Apprenticeships
by Rdr2
Summary: A Jedi Knight finds a powerful Force-sensitive and decides to make her his apprentice.


_**Apprenticeships**_

_Timeline:_ 31 years after the Battle of Yavin

Ran Tonno-Skeve hated the Core Worlds. To be more precise, he hated the gutters of them. Born and raised in squalor, a former gang-runner and pickpocket, he knew firsthand how vile people could be. But it was not the gutter-bred that he recognized as villainous. No, it was those above them, from the uncaring rich and powerful to the common middle-class blue-collar—sentients who ignored the poverty around them.

He saw it in action as he walked the streets of Bariss City, capital of Tavanna, a world known for its medical products. Few of those products ever made it to the gutters. A brief glance of his bright green eyes absorbed the old woman pushing a battered cart filled with refuse—her evening meal. There, by the fire hydrant, sat a drunk in a woolen cap, his face in his knees and his rump in a pool of his own vomit. Two boys huddled from the autumn cold, a piece of flat cardboard and tattered cloaks their only ward against the chill duracrete and the cutting wind. Every day, scores, hundreds, perhaps thousands of well-fed and dressed humans and aliens walked by the destitute without paying them a second glance. Like they were doing now.

Ran diverted from the sidewalk toward the two boys, flipping them a credit chip expertly. It landed in their hands, but they did not see him; he had already moved back into the cloud without so much as a billow of his blue cloak. A hundred credits would do them little good in the long run, Ran knew, but at least they could buy something hot for their distended bellies. "You can't save the world," was a saying of the old Jedi Order, so the records went, but Ran would be damned if he did not try. He knew what it was like to sit on cold duracrete without food for a week. The old Jedi did not.

The green-eyed Jedi pulled his cloak tighter around him, shielding himself from the cold, and ducked into a bar—the Angry Rancor. A pleasant name, he mused, but appropriate for the owner. There would be few patrons this early in the day, which suited him just fine. It was best to conduct business when there were fewer ears to catch the transaction. Ran strode past the square tables set in uneven lanes in the taproom and made directly for the bar, where a weathered serving girl was cleaning a glass mug with a dirty rag.

"Well," she grunted in an unladylike fashion, "look what the nexu dragged in. If it ain't Ran Tonno-Skeve, swindler, con artist, and bleedin' heart. You got some nerve comin' in here, bright eyes, especially after you put Hiljac's boy in the slammer." The girl accentuated her accusations with a sharp prod at his chest.

Ran gave her his most winning smile. It did not work. "Jenna, I missed you too, my love. I told you and your boss that that mess wasn't my fault. Kaddi simply shouldn't have been messing around with Feld and his spice runners. You start helping slime like him spread drugs, you know you're in for a world of trouble."

"Yeah," Jenna hissed, "you!" Ran just shrugged, taking the stab as a compliment. The girl sighed and ran her fingers through her dirty hair. "I'll go get Hiljac. Its him you want to see, right?" She left for a back room. A few moments later, a burly slob of a Quarren stumbled out, his squid-shaped face slimy with perspiration and quivering with heated anger.

"Tonno-Skeve!" Hiljac roared in his bubbly, gurgling voice. "You got some kind of death wish, Skeve? Stomping in here after what you did?"

"I was just doing my job, Hiljac. Like I told Jenna, bringing down Kaddi and Feld wasn't personal. Kaddi should have known better than to get in with spice lord scum like him. Anyway, I'm here to call in a favor."

"You brain dead or something? I should have you shot for this!"

The green-eyed Jedi calmly drew a cylindrical recorder from his utility belt. He played what was stored on it. By the end of the recording, the Quarren's face was pale. Ran eyed him stonily. "You think I didn't know that you were in on the spice ring, Hiljac? Kaddi spilled the beans right before CorSec found him, courtesy of me. He had some surprising things to say.

"Now, I didn't turn this over to the authorities because you still owed me for getting rid of that serial killer who was crimping your business two years ago. But all I have to do is play this to the right ears, and all hell will come down on your head like a battleaxe. You see, Hiljac my friend, I don't like being taken in for a fool. Had I known that you were one of the key distributors of Feld's spice, I would have let that killer take you out before I nabbed him. Now, about calling in that favor…."

Hiljac capitulated. "What do you want?" he said dejectedly.

Ran smiled and slipped the recorder back into his belt. "I'm here to hunt down another crime lord. Name's Scar Steelnose, lost his nose in a quick-draw duel and had a prosthetic made for it. Likes to smoke Hutt hookah weeds. His empire stretches from Coruscant to Bothawui and everything in between, but I hear that he's settled down on this little world—away from prying eyes by being right under them. My question: where is he?"

"I can't tell you that," Hiljac groaned weakly. Sweat poured out of his too-moist skin like waterfalls. "They'd kill me if they found out. No one crosses Scar Steelnose."

"That's a crying shame, Hiljac. I guess I'll have to play a tune to alleviate the sorrow in my heart."

"No! No! Wait—fine, you right bastard, I'll tell. He's working out of the Trough Sector. Nasty place, but crime lords like him seem to thrive there. His mansion is in plain sight too, but he goes by the name of Thius Manej there, a respectable merchant."

"Right in plain sight," Ran mused with a grin, "just like his style. I'll be seeing you, Hiljac. Thanks for the tip." The green-eyed Jedi sauntered out of the bar with a bounce to his step.

* * *

"Step right up, and try your luck!" rhymed the pretty girl in the provocative red dress and fishnet hose. She raised white-gloved hands into the air, clapped them twice, and smiled as bursts of fire sparked around her. Some in the thronging crowd stopped to watch—some out of awe and others just to see her fine legs. Either way, she got their attention.

The girl pointed at a random man in the crowd. "You sir, you look like you have Lady Luck on your side. Care to try a round of cards?" A full deck appeared in her palm with a flip of her delicate fingers. "One round of sabaac is all I ask!"

The man smiled at her and started to shuffle the cards. Suddenly, they burst into flame. The man leaped back, startled. Laughter erupted from the crowd. "Careful, sir," the girl said with a grin, "it's a hot deck tonight." Applause met her wit, and a few credit chips clinked into a hat she left at her feet.

The cards vanished with a flourish of her hands and she went right into the next act. "My apologies, good sir, for scaring you. To recompense, I'd like to do something nice." She walked up close to the man, who blushed at her proximity. Leaning in close enough to brush her cheek against his chin, she snapped her fingers by his ear and made a pulling gesture. Frog-like gizka jumped out of his ear. The children in the crowd giggled hysterically, running up to catch the adorable animals. But as soon as they touched them, they exploded in a flurry of glowing light.

The crowd had gotten quite thick and the applause was deafening. The girl grinned and reveled in the attention.

Much later, after she had quit her street act for the day and returned to the two-bit motel room she was lounging at, she looked at herself in the mirror and smiled at her reflection. "Beautiful," she said to her image, "you're doing great." With a confident flip of her thick, shoulder-length brown hair, she turned to the tiny fridge and proceeded to raid it for dinner.

The motel was a far cry from the opulent living she was used to, but that previous life was long behind her. There were no rare Alderaanian leathers on her furniture, only the tattered remnants thrown out into the alleys and salvaged by others. There was no feather-down bed to caress her body, just a hard, food-stained mattress. "But this is my life, now," the girl mused, half-sad and half-cheerily. "I chose this."

A knock on the door roused her from her thoughts. Dressed in nothing more than a bathrobe, she hastily donned trousers and a shirt—an unflattering ensemble, but more than enough to preserve her dignity. She opened the door. "Yes?" she began, but then her voice caught in her throat.

A dashingly handsome man in his mid-thirties stood in the hall. His pressed gray clothes and slicked black ponytail bespoke wealth and power, but it was his confident, overwhelming aura that gave his wealth and power a dangerous edge. "Miss Angela Marshair," the man greeted cordially, his voice like silk, "as always, it is a pleasure to bask in your youthful presence."

The girl, Angela, recovered her composure and summoned all of the imperious poise she had. "Scar Steelnose. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"Straight to the point as always, my dear." He drew forth a long bottle from behind him. "I merely came to give you a gift. Share a drink with me?"

She glanced at the label briefly—Corellian, pre-Empire. A good year and a very rare vintage, but Scar Steelnose was a man with many connections. The bottle was only a subtle reminder of just how long his reach was. Angela Marshair feared no one and nothing, but Steelnose did, on occasion, send a cold shiver down her spine. One such chill shot down to her toes. "I'd rather not," she said crisply. "I was just about to eat something light. This would not be agreeable to the palate."

"Of course." He offered the bottle to her. "Then accept this as the gift it is intended to be. Your tongue may enjoy its bite at a later date, then."

She did not take it. "What do you want?"

He sighed tiredly. "So impatient. Very well. You're debt, my dear, is accumulating and it has been almost two months since you last paid. I do hope that your…patronage…hasn't dropped?"

"My act is just as successful as ever," she lied through gritted teeth. It had gotten thinner lately; even tonight's crowd had been nothing more than a fluke, a rare turnout. "You will have both this month's and last month's dues on time, Scar. Just give me another week."

He cradled his forehead in his hand, shaking his head slightly. "Angela, Angela—you said a month, then two more weeks, and now you ask for another extension? I'm afraid that my business simply cannot handle this sort of behavior from its patrons. If everyone were to have an infinite extension, I'd be ruined. You have until tomorrow."

"I can't possibly—"

Scar Steelnose glared at her hard, and his voice became as stone. "Tomorrow, Miss Marshair." Threat, unhidden and deadly, dripped from his words. "No later." With that, he left.

Angela closed the door, leaned against it, and dropped her chin to her chest. "How in all the Core Worlds did I get myself into this mess?" she moaned quietly. She popped open the bottle with her thumb and took a deep, long swig to fortify herself and then banged the back of her head against the door with a sigh.

* * *

The next day she was at the corner of the Trough Sector, once again wooing the crowd with her magic. The crowd was smaller than yesterday's, carving a grim, dark frown on her face. And then she saw them: four pig-faced Gamorreans wielding stun batons and blasters, coming straight for her. Angela swore quietly and abruptly took off down a side alley, to the stupefaction of her tiny audience. Grunting informed her that her pursuers were right on her heels.

When she was still among the elite of galactic society, Angela had gone to a stunning private academy that taught athletics and etiquette as often as academia. She had been on the track team, then—the champion sprinter. She put those skills to use. She dodged and wove through the maze of back streets and alleyways, the Gamorreans unrelenting and untiring. Blaster shots chipped stone off the sides of buildings, far too close to her head for comfort, urging her onward despite the burning of fatigue in her slender legs.

She was fast, but she was a sprinter—though a star athlete in short runs, she simply did not have the stamina for long-distance chases. Her breath came in heavy gasps and her side burned painfully. Her feet felt like lead and dragged against the duracrete. The Gamorreans, solidly built monsters that they were, plodded after her and the gap between them closed. She was trapped.

But her brown eyes flared with renewed light. "I'll be a monkey-lizard on Tatooine before I give up," she growled, clenching her fists tight. The Gamorreans stalked before her, three massive green-skinned thugs. They bounced their batons in their meaty palms threateningly. But Angela did not back down, her face resolute and her body ready to fight to the bitter end.

Someone tapped one of the thugs on the shoulder. The three spun to face the newcomer, weapons held high and poised to strike. "You do not want to do this," a mischievous, almost boyish, voice said. One of the Gamorreans repeated the phrase dully. The newcomer, still hidden from Angela's sight by the huge thugs, pressed on. "You will leave the girl alone and walk away." On cue, as if they were puppets on strings, the Gamorreans mindlessly strode out of the alley, not looking back.

Angela got her first good look at her rescuer. Tall and broad-shouldered, brown-haired and green-eyed, he cut an impressive, authoritative figure despite the simple homespun and blue robes he wore. His eyes were particularly fascinating, for they gleamed with laughter—hinting at a rebellious streak. "Don't come any closer," she warned half-heartedly, for those gleaming eyes invited trust.

The green-eyed man gave her a roguish bow. "Your welcome," he said loftily, holding out his blue cloak.

Angela furrowed her brows at him, annoyed by his lightheartedness. "Yes, well, you can leave now, thanks."

But he ignored the veiled command, instead jerking his thumb at the retreating Gamorreans. "Those were Scar Steelnose's men, or my knowledge of gang uniforms is wrong." He turned a finger on her. "And since they were after you, that means you're important, somehow."

"Great," Angela grumbled loudly, "another cop putting his nose where it doesn't belong. What are you, CorSec?"

"Nah, I'm not that reckless, though I used to be. I'm just out to take down Steelnose's little operation and thought that you might be able to help me." He gave her a winning grin that only irritated her further. "You know, a little tip for tap."

"Tap this," she said, giving him a rude gesture. "I'm neck-deep in trouble with Steelnose as it is, so there's no way in all the Fringe Worlds that I'm going to go all the way and drown myself. Besides, you're mad if you want to go up against Steelnose. He's the most powerful man on this planet and the next several. You'd need an army to take him out."

"I handled those Gamorreans easily enough."

"About that—how did you _do_ that? You known around the underworld here or something?"

"No, but if things go the way I plan, I soon will be."

She snorted. "That has to be the stupidest one-liner I've ever heard."

The green-eyed man just shrugged and kept on smiling. Angela suddenly had the urge to wipe that silly grin off his face, as nice a face as it was. "By the way," the man said, "what's a pretty little girl like you getting into messes with crime lords?"

She fumed at that description and stomped right up to him; she barely stood to his chest. Unperturbed, she poked a finger into his chest. "Look here, buster. I'm not little and my business is that—mine. Thanks for getting those thugs off me. Now beat it. I don't need your help, protection, or whatever you men do for girls in distress. And I definitely don't want to get tangled up in any more trouble with Steelnose. He's out for my butt as it is."

The man turned his head, his eyes slashing over her. A vein throbbed on her temple at his rakish glance. "I can see why," the man grinned. "It's a very nice butt." Without thinking, and not really regretting the move, Angela jammed her knuckles into the man's cheek with a satisfying crack.

"By the Core Worlds," he muttered dizzily, leaning against the side of a building. "Why do I always meet the violent ones who can't take a compliment."

"Being checked out by an old geezer like you isn't my idea of a compliment," she snapped back.

"Old geezer? I'm hurt to the quick," he said, touching his heart dramatically. "You don't look any older than eighteen, nineteen tops," he commented. "That only makes you about eight or nine years younger than me. I see no problems with looking at a pretty thing like you."

She folded her arms together. "Seventeen," she corrected, "and I have a name—its not 'pretty thing.' Its Angela Marshair, street magician."

The man rubbed his cheek as he introduced himself. "Ran Tonno-Skeve, self-appointed rake, rogue, and scoundrel. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Marshair."

Despite herself, Angela grinned at his self-description. He seemed like an all right fellow, though he was positively infuriating. "I suppose it would be. Anyway, I guess it was kind of rude of me to say 'thanks for saving me, now get lost.' Now mind you, I don't want to get involved in Steelnose's business for my own sake—but I can at least point you in the right direction. I mean, someone's got to bring the bastard down." She waved him to follow her and started off down the street. "Come on, I'll show you my place. It's not much, but I can show you where to go from there."

Half an hour later, Ran agreed, "Yeah, it isn't much." He sank into a nearby chair in the motel and propped one boot on a coffee table. "But I suppose its cozy enough. You live here on your own?"

Angela was mixing some drinks, Coruscant brandy and ale. "Been on my own for the past two years," she answered, handing him a full glass and bringing her own to her lips. "Careful. I put a bit of spice in it; gives it a bit of a bite."

"You sure know your drinks for an underage girl." He downed his brew in one gulp and sucked in a breath. "Bite nothing—that thing's practically gouging my throat out," he wheezed.

"I warned you about the spice," she reminded him with a chuckle, toying with her glass. "So, Ran Tonno-Skeve, you're after Scar Steelnose. You certainly don't lack for challenges."

"So I gather. Is he really as bad as all that?"

"I've never met a bigger scumbag."

"So you've met him in person."

"Yes. I wanted to start a stage act here, and Steelnose loaned me a couple grand. Didn't go over too well, or I wouldn't be doing street performances. Anyway, Steelnose's goons are all over me, wanting to get their investment back. So here I am."

"Didn't your mother tell you to never get involved with people like that?"

Angela grimaced, and it was not from the drink. "My mother and I are not on speaking terms. I ran away from home after I got kicked out of school for slicing into the dean's files."

He blinked at her, seemingly impressed. "A magician, a slicer, and in-deep with the criminal underworld. You're quite the talented lady." He leaned forward in the chair, taking his foot off the table. "And while I could listen to your origin story forever, Miss Marshair, I would really like to learn more about Scar Steelnose. You said you could help me. How?"

She grinned like a fox. "I'm a survivor, Tonno-Skeve. Taught on the streets. I know this city inside and out, and I know just how to get you into Steelnose's house undetected. I had half a mind to kill him myself, but his goons in the mansion are lot more competent than those pigs he sent after me. But you look like a man who can handle pretty much anything, aren't you?" She reached behind her back and produced a long cylindrical item. "Especially since you're a Jedi."

Ran raised one eyebrow. "A magician, a slicer, and a thief," he mused with a lopsided grin. "When and how did you pilfer my lightsaber?"

"A good mage never reveals her secrets." She idly tossed the weapon back to its owner.

"Touche. So, you going to tell me how to get into his house?"

Angela went to her bed, pulling a datapad from beneath the mattress. In it, she knew, was a map of the city, with a sewer system overlay. All she had to do was give him a datacard with the overlay and….

She felt Ran's hands around her upper arms, pulling her down to the floor. "What?" she shrieked, just as the far wall exploded in flames and blaster fire. Four Gamorreans and three Rodians—equipped with blasters and clubs—sauntered in through the new hole in the wall.

"No one outruns Scar Steelnose," one of the Rodians gurgled in heavily accented Basic. He leveled a blaster their way, but suddenly Ran's lightsaber boiled forth with a hiss, sending the incoming bolt back at the Rodian. The thug dropped with his head burned off. Angela could only watch as the green-eyed Jedi wove his way through the thugs, his blade a blur of blue-white light. In moments, the fight was over, with all seven thugs slain.

The Jedi took her under her arm and helped her stand. "I think you'd better come with me," Ran said thinly. "Seven to one odds like this—that hardly seems fair."

Angela sniffed derisively. "I could have handled them, in time," she said with bravado. "It's not like I need your protection."

"Fine, whatever. Anyway, I could use a guide." He tossed her a credit chip; she noticed that it was a four-digit figure and whistled. "Call that a starting fee," he said.

"Bright eyes," she quipped with a grin, "you've got yourself a guide."

"A pleasure doing business with you, Miss Marshair," he said, returning the grin.

That grin invited trust, invited friendship. Innocent in a boyish way, so at odds with the fierce determination of the Jedi standing before her. The contrasts intrigued her.

On impulse, she said, "Call me Angela."

* * *

Ran had to admit that the girl was good. She navigated the sewers like it was her second home, knew every nook and cranny of it almost instinctively. A survivor, she had called herself, and an appropriate title it was. Ran noted the meticulousness in her, for few would bother learning the ways of the sewers as well as the surface streets—what better place to hide than beneath the feet of your pursuers?

He had been a gutter-runner himself, had done many of the same things she was doing now. But Ran had always been a gutter boy; he was born and raised into it. He could tell that Angela Marshair was not. She had pride, a certain air of nobility that suggested that she came from higher roots, perhaps even the boughs of a great social tree. But she had learned the ways of the streets well, had made herself knowledgeable in the tricks of her roguish profession.

A street magician, he mused, but one who had many other talents upon which to fall back on. Indeed, she had learned how to be a survivor, with such a repertoire to call upon.

"This will lead us directly to Steelnose's mansion?" Ran inquired, shining his glow rod above his head. Muck and sewage clung to his high leather boots, making sickening slurping sounds. He had not walked in such filth since his days in the gang. It brought back memories, smelly ones. "It can't possibly be this easy."

"It's not," the brown-haired girl assured him. "There's a maintenance shaft that leads up into the kitchen in the back of the mansion, but it has all sorts of security sensors. It's an obvious weak spot, so Steelnose made sure to cover it up as well as he could. He's probably installed automated blaster turrets around it, too."

She did not mind the grime or the sludge that curled around her boots and leggings; it was clear to Ran that she was used to traveling in worse regions than a city sewer. He idly wondered just how many adventures the girl had before settling down in Bariss City.

At last, they came within sight of the maintenance shaft. The access was sealed by a thick blast door with an electronic lock and keypad. Two armored turrets stood on small tripods at either side of the door, sweeping their fire zone with red light. "Motion sensors," Ran groaned. "And thorough ones, too." He estimated fifteen meters between him and the access, which he could cross in a heartbeat with Force-assisted speed. But even a heartbeat would not be long enough to cut through armored turrets before he was shot.

"So, Angie," he said.

"Angela," she corrected sharply.

He conceded with a nod. "Angela, then. So, Angela, you wouldn't happen to know how to remotely shut down two gun turrets?"

"Not off the top of my head, no. But I'm a magician." She winked at him. "Watch this." With a wave of her hand, sludge and sewer water coalesced and danced in the air, breaking the motion sensor lines and instigating the turrets to fire. Hot blaster bolts tore through the liquid harmlessly, and the sludge pressed forward, slamming into the turrets. The firing stopped, for the gun barrels were jammed thick with sewage.

Ran watched the display with quiet fascination. A stage magician indeed! he thought. The girl was a Force-user, and an immensely strong one. Ran himself had grown strong in the Force only through long practice, but by his estimation, this girl outstripped even Luke Skywalker with just raw ability. He wondered if she was even aware of the extent of her power.

Angela was panting softly, sweat beading on her brow. "I haven't tried anything that hard in a while," she explained. "I usually just do illusions and stuff. Heh, guess you weren't expecting a thief and trickster to be Force-sensitive, huh?"

"You knew I was a Jedi," he said tightly. "Why didn't you tell me you were Force-sensitive? You could have had training, learned to use your ability with more precision."

"I've got nothing against the Jedi," she responded defensively, "but I just don't do the whole organization thing. I'm an independent, always have been. I don't need a bunch of old people in blankets looking over my shoulder, telling me how to live my life."

The admission drew a howl of laughter from Ran's belly. "Believe it or not, Angela, I felt the exact same way when I began my training," he explained, seeing her surprised expression at his mirth. "Master Skywalker and the others were just a bunch of geezers with too much brain and not enough heart. They kept on telling me to be careful, to be cautious, to be everything they wanted but nothing I wanted to be."

"If you're grins are anything to go by, you haven't capitulated to their whims," she commented dryly.

"I suppose not. I've mellowed out over the years, sure, but I've never been completely comfortable with setting aside my emotions and all that. Passion keeps me going, tells me I'm alive." He clapped her on the shoulder, a friendly gesture between kindred spirits. "Seems you and I share the same philosophy."

Angela looked down at his hand, but did not pull away. "Anyway," she said after the silence grew uncomfortable, "those turrets are down, so you can do your lightsaber thing and bring down that door." Ran nodded and slashed open the thick bulkheads. The work was slow and hot, but eventually the access was unsealed. The Jedi and the magician walked through, leaving chunks of molten slag behind them.

"So, tell me about yourself," Ran pressed as they walked through the long maintenance shaft. It was a humble affair of durasteel, a sloping tunnel leading ever higher toward the mansion. Bits of dishrags and food products lined the edges of the shaft, speaking volumes of its purpose.

The brown-haired girl shrugged. "Not much to tell, really. I was kicked out of school and had to make my way on my own. I learned how to steal, slice into bank accounts, and other little tricks. It was around then that I discovered I was Force-sensitive. I opened up my stage acts shortly thereafter."

"You're not being completely honest, though," the green-eyed Jedi said knowingly; his supposition was confirmed when the girl's stride stiffened. "You have a rich Core World accent and speak with impeccable grammar. You look used to walking the slums and worse, but there's a definite nobility around you."

She threw him a disparaging glare over her shoulder. "And there's a definite nosiness about _you_," she countered tartly. He touched his heart, indicating that she had scored a hit, and did not pursue the matter further. Clearly, her life before the streets was a delicate field, and even Ran, despite his continuous audacity, knew when to reign in his irreverence. He, too, had more than enough secrets to feel uncomfortable when someone started prying into them.

"Come on," she commanded irritably, jogging up the rest of the way. They came to another door, locked by a keypad. Her fingers danced across it. "Six-digit password," she said quietly to herself. "Hmm." She typed in a series of numbers and the door slid open with a whoosh.

Ran blinked. "How'd you know what to hit?"

She beamed at him with the self-confidence of a true rogue. "A good mage never reveals her tricks," she reminded him. Ran followed close on her heels as she strode boldly through the doorway.

The kitchen was empty at the moment and a number of servants' uniforms hung from a nearby clothes rack, suggesting that it would remain empty for a long while. Without a word, the brown-haired girl doffed her own jacket and pulled the uniform over her head. Ran followed her lead, making sure to change his sewage-caked boots to avoid leaving a telling trail of footprints, and soon the two disguised interlopers were making their way through the first floor of Steelnose's mansion, seemingly part of the faceless mass of servants that kept the opulent estate running.

Ran's humble beginnings had ingrained a sense of distrust for the trappings of wealth. He appreciated them, but he could never feel at peace in places of great decoration and gaudiness. "Perhaps that's why I stayed with the Jedi," he mused to himself quietly, a small grin creeping up his lips. "Better than the streets, but just grungy enough to be me." He chuckled inwardly at the image of Master Skywalker's reaction at having his Jedi Order called grungy.

"What's so funny?" Angela asked.

"Nothing. I assume Steelnose would be upstairs somewhere." He noted that the girl seemed quite at home in the mansion, cementing his theory that she was, in fact, of highborn upbringing.

"Probably. Why don't you use those vaunted Jedi senses of yours to find him? You guys can do that, right?"

"Usually, yes, but I never was good at paying attention," he commented lightly with his typical roguish grin. They found a set of marble stairs leading to the next floor. Ran glanced down at it, noting how his stolen boots left dark marks on its surface, and just shook his head at the fragility of luxury. "It's not really a skill I'm terribly good at. Working on it, though."

"Some Jedi." She did not give the stairs a second glance.

When a troop of four guards walked past them, they almost stopped in surprise. Luckily, they kept their wits about and pressed on as if nothing were amiss. Ran breathed a sigh of relief; their disguises held.

They explored the second floor, and when they heard the throaty chuckling, they followed it to their man. Beyond a carved wooden door lay a stateroom, and Ran could hear the laughter of a man who could only be Scar Steelnose. Angela crinkled her nose distastefully, confirming his assumptions. It sounded like the crime lord was in the throes of passion.

"Well," Ran said, "I hate to burst in on such an occasion, but I have a job to do." He kicked in the door, igniting his weapon.

A buxom Twi'lek woman let out a shriek, clutching bed-sheets to her breasts. The man lying in bed with her, Scar Steelnose, sat up with a look of outrage marring his charismatic, godlike features. "Who in blazes are you?" he roared. His gaze settled on Angela and then widened. "You!"

"No, me." Ran said evenly, leveling his blade at him. "Angela here was just kind enough to show me how to get to you. I'm Ran Tonno-Skeve, Jedi Knight, and you're under arrest."

"You're a bloody fool if you think I'll go quietly," the crime lord growled. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a blaster. "Intruders!" he shouted as loudly as he could, firing wildly. Ran batted the bolts away without effort.

"Ran, we've got company!" Angela cried.

Steelnose leapt out of bed, leaving the Twi'lek behind, and ran to the far wall. He pounded his fist against it; it slid open, revealing a secret access. "Do something about it!" he retorted, following the crime lord down into the dark tunnel.

"You piece of bantha-poo," he heard the girl grouse, a sound quickly followed by the roaring of wood, metal, and plaster. He could feel the Force flowing around her, and knew that she was tearing the building apart. But he kept his attention on the man before him.

"If you keep running, you'll only make it worse," Ran shouted at him, but the crime lord ignored him and ran faster. "Now you'll see why they call me Ran," he said, letting the Force wrap around his soul and grant him new energy. He became a blur and the distance between him and Steelnose shrank to nothing. In a heartbeat, the green-eyed Jedi had closed in on his prey, kicked the man behind the knees, knocked him to the ground, and put a foot on his back. "Now you can just stay there," he told the crime lord, letting the tip of his lightsaber burn away some hair.

He turned his head and saw Angela walking toward him, sweat on her brow but a tight grin on her lips. "I heard you shaking up the place," Ran said. He deactivated his lightsaber.

"What?" she blinked, confused. "Oh, that." The smirk returned and she crooked at finger. "Come here, I got something to show you." With that, she returned to the mansion proper. Ran grabbed Steelnose roughly and pushed him ahead, keeping his thumb on his weapon's activation plate. The defeated crime lord was grim and seething with anger, but otherwise remained silent as the Jedi paraded him forward.

Ran walked out of Steelnose's room, winking roguishly at the nude Twi'lek as he left. Then it was his turn to blink in confusion. The mansion was perfectly normal, without so much as a piece of plaster out of place. "What the?"

Angela laughed. "I'm a street magician remember? Illusions are my specialty. You should have seen those guards when I started making the walls and stairs break apart! It was hilarious! The aural illusion helped out too." Her brown eyes glimmered mischievously at him. "I even tricked you, right?"

"Yeah, you did." He could only look at her with a mixture of awe and amusement. Awe because no one—not even Corran Horn, a master of such techniques—could create an effect so elaborate. Amusement because it was a trick he himself would have done if he had the power to do so. The girl thought a lot like him, he realized. Indeed, she expressed the same bring-it-on irreverence that he had.

Acting on an impulse—partially his own, but he surmised that the will of the Force was also involved—he broached the question, "Angela, since you don't dislike the Jedi, why not join?"

"I already told you, I don't like organizations. It's just not in my nature."

"All right," he conceded. Destiny surrounds her, he thought, and I _know_ that the Force wants her to take it. "Then why not become my apprentice?"

She spun on him, surprised. "Your apprentice? I think not. I said I don't like organizations. Are you deaf as well as inattentive?"

"Hey, you can't ask for a better teacher." At her smirk, he amended, "All right, maybe you can. But you can't ask for a teacher who has your attitude. I'm not a big fan of the Jedi's philosophy myself, like I said. I can train you, show you how to use your power for something bigger than street performances. And I'm willing to bet you're just a heartbeat from accepting my proposal."

She looked at him guardedly. "What makes you say that?"

"Because if I were in your position, I'd reach out and take the chance."

She smiled at that and sighed. "You're right about that, you know. I guess we are a lot alike. All right, I'll be your apprentice. Why the heck not? It beats slumming around here."

Suddenly, Ran had a vision: They stood together, Master and apprentice. He in his blue and white robes, his blue blade gleaming. Her in clothes of similar cut, but green, with a matching blade in hand. They faced off against a hundred foes, each one different than the last. But they melted away before their presence. This is her destiny, he mused, this is what I have to train her to do—the will of the Force. I made the right decision in making her my apprentice.

Angela Marshair interrupted his thoughts. "Hey, does this mean I have to call you Master?" Her face was scrunched in distaste.

He chuckled. "It _is_ tradition, Angela. But you only have to call me that until you graduate to Jedi Knight."

"Well, I'd better study hard, then."

**The End**


End file.
